


The Clairvoyant

by Himmelreich



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: AZ Fanbook, Gen, Megali Argo Collab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Aren’t you afraid someone could see?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Slaine turns his head towards him, a smile on his lips that does not quite reach his eyes.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“The beach has been closed off for civilians today. One of the more obscure benefits of a recent war is that no-one will question the alleged removal of duds which requires the setup of a safety perimeter.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clairvoyant

**Author's Note:**

> This fic and fanart are part of [AZ Fanbook](http://azfanbook.com/), please check out the site for a ton more of fantastic art and fics! I am incredibly happy we were allowed to be part of this project _(:3 」∠)
> 
> (Art by [izumisays](http://izumisays.tumblr.com).)

“You’ll get sand in your shoes if you don’t take them off.”  
Inaho turns back and sees Slaine linger a few steps behind, canvas slippers in his hand and a judging expression on his face.  
“The sand’s still cold at this time of year.”

Slaine just shakes his head, but does not argue. He quietly walks past Inaho, not slowing down until he reaches the very the edge of the spray zone. He remains there, completely still, the occasional strong wave lapping at his feet, as Inaho catches up, making sure to stop just shy of the dark line of wet sand to keep his shoes dry. He looks at Slaine from the side, and watches him stare into the distance where the steel-coloured sea blurs with the grey of the sky above. His face is even and unreadable, every now and then hidden by his hair caught in the wind.

“The seaside on cloudy days has a very melancholic feel to it, somehow.” Slaine’s tone is conversational, but Inaho knows the other well enough by now to be able to tell that the scenery genuinely affects him. He has found out that Slaine often is moved by the smallest and most random words, gestures, or views. Different from the first-time wonder and amazement Inaho had witnessed the Princess and other Martians experience and express upon seeing the vast beauty of Earth, for Slaine, everything is tinged with a painful nostalgia Inaho cannot even hope to ever truly comprehend.

Inaho has nothing to offer in reply, and for a while, they remain side by side in silence, the only sounds surrounding them the constant crashing of the waves and the cries of the seabirds scattered along the coast.

“Aren’t you afraid someone could see?”  
Slaine turns his head towards him, a smile on his lips that does not quite reach his eyes.  
“The beach has been closed off for civilians today. One of the more obscure benefits of a recent war is that no-one will question the alleged removal of duds which requires the setup of a safety perimeter.”  
Slaine looks nonplussed for a second, then his shoulders heave in silent laughter.

“I can’t tell if the fact that you abuse your power and people’s trust in you only to squander it on such trivial and inconsequential things as allowing me a walk on the beach is reassuring or worrying,” he replies, but there is no edge to his voice. “I suppose you could do worse.”

“I have no interest in accumulating power.”

A vague hum is Inaho’s only answer, and he is not sure if that is supposed to mean Slaine believes that statement or not. For someone who had played with such high stakes as Count Saazbaum Troyard, maybe it was impossible to understand, even if deep down, Inaho thinks they both had only ever considered power a necessary evil to achieve a different goal, and not what they truly desired.

“Your lies allow me to have a moment of freedom, though, so I guess I owe you words of gratitude rather than criticism.”  
Slaine resumes walking along the coastline, and Inaho follows automatically. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m doing this because I feel like it, and that’s it.”

He does not say that after all, this freedom, too, is only an illusion. Instead, they both ignore the three soldiers observing them from the path on the dunes above like silent guardians, guns at the ready. Inaho did not ask what scenario they fear more - Slaine trying to make a run for it, or him trying to drown Inaho.

In his opinion, neither is likely, though, as Slaine seems content just to slowly meander between the cold water and the sand.  
“I would have preferred warmer weather for this trip, but that’s the thing with having to schedule this far ahead,” Inaho states unprompted, but Slaine shakes his head.

“I don’t mind it. I enjoy the wind and the change of temperature, really.” As if to prove his point, he bends down to roll up his pant legs and then wades in a little deeper, until the water almost reaches up to his knees. Inaho feels freezing from just watching.

From the corner of his eye, he spots something rapidly approaching from above, and a seagull nosedives into the waves just metres away from them, resurfacing with a wriggling and doomed fish seconds later.  
He has not opened his mouth fully to speak up when Slaine already cuts off any attempt.

“Don’t.” He turns his head and shoots Inaho a warning glare over his shoulder. “I know what you want to say, but so help me, if you-”  
“Umineko. This type of seagull is named after cats not for its hunting skills, but its cry, which does resemble-”

Slaine turns his whole body around swiftly, kicking up his leg in the process, and Inaho is too slow in backing away to dodge the spray.  
“My apologies, it seems I’m not as graceful as my feathered namesakes,” Slaine quips, looking extremely pleased with himself as Inaho wordlessly tries to wipe off some of the water before it seeps into the thick material of his suit. Somewhere deep down, he is aware that he had probably asked for it.

“They are entertaining to watch, though.”  
Slaine looks back to where a second seagull has landed next to the successful hunter. The birds squabble over the prey before they take off, continuing their fight mid-air. Inaho can see Slaine’s gaze effortlessly keep up with the abrupt turns, rises and falls of the animals, and for the first time he wonders if flying is something Slaine misses, just maybe.

“Seers in many cultures around the world believed you could actually foretell the future based on the way birds fly,” he brings up, and he does manage to regain Slaine’s attention.  
“Really, now. So, what can you tell from looking at these birds, Kaizuka Inaho?”

Inaho observes and considers his answer for a moment.  
“Air currents, thermal lift, and wind force. We’ll have a weather change soon.” Slaine brushes his fringe back, keeping it in place to give Inaho a long look that probably is supposed to make him feel bad.

“I don’t know why I even expected anything else from you,” he then says with a sigh, and Inaho smiles.  
“Why, what do you see?”  
“There’s nothing for me in the future, and I’ll never try to predict it ever again.” Slaine’s voice is soft and almost drowned out by the noise of the waves. “I’ve seen the future, Inaho, more often than I can count. And I’ve seen myself die just as many times.”

“Once for every bullet you dodged.”  
“Yes. But I still didn’t see my defeat and fall approach. In the end, what use is knowing the future if the most important things still happen against all odds, anyway?”

“I’ve actually wondered about that. The future you saw must have changed with every decision you made, every split second of reconsideration and doubt. This ability could only ever be of use to someone with unshakeable beliefs and true conviction. A fickle-hearted pilot second-guessing their every move would have gained nothing from Tharsis, the future it would show them would have been constantly changing.”  
Slaine drops his hand, hair falling back to hide his face, and shrugs.  
“And yet, what I did was wrong, regardless. All conviction, no matter how noble, is irrelevant if all it leads to is suffering and destruction.”

“Are you familiar with Hugh Everett’s theory on multiverses?”  
The lack of an immediate reply has Inaho decide that no, Slaine was not, and he continues right away.  
“The basic idea is that everything that can possibly happen has to happen eventually, in every possible way. There is no good or bad, no right or wrong, just the decisions we inevitably have to make.”  
“That is awfully convenient, isn’t it?” Slaine smiles again, the kind of expression that is too smooth to be genuine. “It washes you clean of all sins you have committed, because it was inevitable destiny. There is no point in mulling over anything, because the outcome is already set in stone.”

“No, exactly the opposite is true. Even if a separate path opens with every little decision we make, this specific string of events is particular to this reality we share now. If you hadn’t decided to act the way you did at any point in time, we wouldn’t be here in this moment. I don’t believe in destiny.”

“So there is a universe where I won and killed you, because it had to happen?”   
“And one where we both died falling to earth, and one where we never met because you didn’t chose to leave your master’s side, and one where maybe neither of us was still alive at the beginning of this war. But this is the one we’re living in.”

“For the you in this world, what I’ve done was still wrong.”  
“War isn’t about rights and wrongs,” Inaho disagrees, realising he is giving this lecture for the second time in his life. He remembers what had followed back then, and he reaches up to touch the thin scar running beneath his eye patch almost automatically. “Whatever your personal reasons may have been, most of the Counts and your soldiers didn’t follow you for that, they fought because they believed it was in the country’s best interest. Maybe you could have postponed Vers’ internal collapse for a few years by defeating and occupying Earth, and maybe not. Another crossroad.”

Slaine simply looks at him for a few moments, but Inaho cannot tell if his words are any consolation to him, or another source of annoyance and disagreement between them. Then, Slaine huffs.  
“When do you even have the time to reflect on these theories in such detail, I wonder?”

“It’s because I think it’s interesting.”   
“You’re a strange person.”

Slaine sends another splash his way, but this time, Inaho is quick enough to sidestep it. If it was warmer, he would consider making a move, too, maybe try to kick Slaine’s legs from under him and make him trip over, if he was so keen on playing in the water, but as things are, he decides to rather leave it be. Something seems to catch Slaine’s attention at that moment, and he rolls up his sleeve to reach down into the waves. When Slaine brings his hand back up, he is carefully holding the fragile form of a seashell between his fingers.

“Oh, you’ve found Angel Wings,” Inaho comments, craning his neck to get a better look, and Slaine frowns.  
“Angel Wings?”  
“Pholadidae, a family of clams. If you open it, it does look like a pair of wings.”

 He reaches out, and Slaine wordlessly gives him the shell. Inaho gently pries the halves open, careful not to break the connection. It is a fully intact specimen, no chipped edges anywhere, and of pure white colour.  
“See?”

Slaine comes closer now, leaning in to regard the shell on Inaho’s outstretched palm with genuine curiosity.  
“It’s very pretty,” he says with a smile, “and lives up to the name.”  
“They’re not too common a find, especially not with both halves intact and connected. You’re lucky.”

“At least when it comes to finding seashells, it seems.”  
The jab at the universe and its unfairness is clear, but not bitter, and Slaine is still smiling when he backs away again.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve been to a beach nearby this one with my sister ten years ago, and I found one of these. I lost it on the way home, though. I remember I was quite upset,” Inaho muses, staring at the shell in his hand.   
“That’s hard to imagine.”

Inaho looks back up, confused. “What is?”

“You being upset about losing a seashell.” Slaine tilts his head in mock-thought, smirking. “Though, if I’m honest, you as a child in general. I can’t imagine you being anything but dead serious and no-nonsense even back then. Maybe smaller is all.”  
He indicates a height somewhere near his hip, and Inaho narrows his eye slightly.  
“We’re the same age.”  
“I’m pretty sure we were vastly different as children, regardless.”

Inaho wants to ask _Aren’t we now, too?_ for a second, but then reconsiders. Instead, he stretches his arm out in a silent offer. Slaine promptly shakes his head.  
“Keep it.”

“You found it, so you should.”  
“Consider it a reimbursement for your tragic loss as a child.”   
“You’re making fun of me.”  
“Hardly. Humour me a little and accept it.”

Inaho stares at the shell on his hand for a few moments of silence, and then acts swiftly and with purpose, carefully twisting the halves along the connection until they split in two.  
“Here,” he insists, holding one out to Slaine, who watches him, stupefied.   
“Splitting up a pair of wings is senseless and cruel,” he then complains, and Inaho thinks Slaine is probably the only person he knows who would be genuinely upset about such a thing. “One wing is useless, you can’t fly with it, and it only reminds you that the other half is lost.”  
“Well, it’s not lost in this case. It is in your possession for time being, and I’ll ask back for it eventually. You’ll get to keep the next intact pair you find.”

“You said they are rare,” Slaine remarks, eyes sharp as always. For someone who is constantly caged, the off-handed implication of future opportunities is hard to miss.  
“We’ll keep coming back here until you do, then.”

“You really need to get a new hobby, Inaho.”

He does pick up one of the halves from Inaho’s hand at that, however.  
“Aren’t people going to be suspicious about mine findings in this region every other month?”  
“I’ll come up with something different next time.”  
“You really should have never been given the amount of authority you wield now.”

Slaine wades out of the water until he is right at Inaho’s side again, and up this close, Inaho can see the amused glint in his eyes. He shrugs in lieu of a reply and stashes the shell in the breast pocket of his jacket.  
They resume walking in agreeable silence, until Slaine speaks up again, casual in tone.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”  
“What am I doing?” Inaho tries innocently, but he already knows it will not work on someone as keen-witted as Slaine.  
“You’re trying to give me a task, some sense of purpose, even if it’s only finding another specific seashell.”

“And what if so?”  
“It’s ridiculous.”  
“It’s a start,” Inaho disagrees.

Slaine shoves his hand cupping the shell into the pocket of the navy blue uniform windbreaker they had given him at the prison, and tilts his head back to glare at the cloudy sky above.  
“It’s clearing up,” he then announces, and true to his words, the first patch of sunlight tears through the thick layer of clouds.  
“I told you there’d be a change of weather.”

Slaine laughs.  
“Well, even if you’re unable to predict your own future, you’re able to read meteorological conditions correctly, I’ll hand you that.”  
“It’s a practical skill to have. But you’ve predicted something correctly, too, actually.”

 When Slaine shoots him a questioning glance, Inaho adds: “I really did get sand into my shoes.”

Admittedly, he probably deserved the slap on the back of his head he gets in response.


End file.
